


Loss of a Good Name

by junko



Series: The Hardest Lesson [1]
Category: Bleach
Genre: F/M, M/M, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-20
Updated: 2012-05-20
Packaged: 2017-11-05 16:14:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/408436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junko/pseuds/junko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A hundred and ten years ago, Byakuya was an untamed adolescent.  His grandfather hatches a plan to change all that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Loss of a Good Name

**Author's Note:**

> Somewhat AU. I'm certainly taking liberties with what is known about Genrei Kuchiki. In fact, I'm making him a bit of an evil bastard. The rape warning is more a caution, there are non-con situations, though.

Summons from his grandfather could only mean one thing: trouble.

Byakuya Kuchiki stood outside the Sixth Division office gathering his resolve. No matter how hard he tried, it was impossible to please the old man. Surely, now that he was coming into his manhood and had chased that infuriating Shihōin brat, Yoruichi, to a draw there would be no more need for awkward, humiliating “lessons.”

But he could sense another presence beyond the rice paper door, someone with an unfamiliar r eistsu… very strong, nearly as powerful as the old man himself. It worried Byakuya, this unknown spiritual pressure, especially given his misstep at dinner a week ago.

It was so rare that his grandfather pulled himself from his duties with the Gotei 13 long enough to dine with the family that Byakuya had been unnerved, especially as the whole evening had the air of an inspection. An inspection, Byakuya _knew_ he’d failed. He hadn’t meant to lose his temper. No one ever did, did they? However, it was as if his grandfather deliberately provoked him, picking at his defenses until they collapsed in a hot burst of anger. Then… the worst part--his grandfather had just turned his back and walked away. There was no mention of the incident, no reprimand, no lecture on the behavior expected of nobles—nothing.

Only a deadly silence that had stretched on for days.

Until now.

The summons was quite formal and… _peculiar_ , as they’d included an armed courier. A shinigami who stood now at attention guarding the door…or, perhaps making certain an errant grandson wouldn’t lose metal.

Well, Byakuya would be damned if he’d run. He’d face whatever his grandfather planned to inflict on him like a man. With one last breath to try to steady his roiling emotions, Byakuya pulled the door open.

Before Byakuya could even announce himself, his grandfather said, “I wondered how long you’d stand out there fuming, child. Come in. Sit.”

After a low bow, Byakuya entered the room. Curiously, the visitor was not in sight. Though inside the room his or her reistsu was almost like the stench of rotting meat, impossible to ignore and permeating everything.

Byakuya settled onto his knees across from his grandfather. The old man looked the same as always in his captain’s haori and the scarf wrapped around his throat. His pure white hair and mustache were perfectly trim and presentable. He never wore the kenseikan, saying it was not necessary to flaunt a prop for people to recognize his station and rank.

Determined to behave properly, Byakuya kept his head slightly bent and waited for his grandfather to speak.

“We shall get right to the point,” his grandfather said without a hint of emotion. “You have mastered everything I would wish you learn—combat, kidō, and shunpo--everything that is, except _yourself_.”

At last, the lecture. This, Byakuya thought he could endure. He stared at the cherry wood floor and pressed the line of his lips together and focused on staying calm.

His grandfather continued. “You are nearly old enough for the genpuktu, the coming of age ceremony, and to begin to assume the duties as the future head of this clan. However, I can’t allow it. Your wild, untamed nature would bring shame to our family and to our good name.”

A flush brightened Byakuya’s cheeks and his arms trembled with the effort it took to restrain his fingers from curling into tight fists. He could not, however, keep his eyes to himself any longer. He glared into the impassive face of his grandfather, and tried to keep his voice steady. “What? You must allow the genpuktu. I’m nearly eighteen. I am to become the heir apparent. With my father gone, there’s no other. This is my birthright. You can’t deny me.”

“I can, and I will. I am the head of this household still.”

“So you are, my lord, but why--why would you do this?” Byakuya’s fists pounded into the hardwood. His voice broke, shattering any illusion of calm. “To what method is this madness?”

“Look at you. You have no self-control. I will not have an undisciplined and spoiled heir. As you have consistently resisted gentler methods of instruction, you leave me no option. You’re being sent away.”

“Away?” Byakuya shot to his feet. “No, I refuse. You’ve lost your mind. You can’t leave the household without an heir. It’s insanity.”

“Calm yourself,” his grandfather snapped, the first hint of emotion from the old man. He stood up and adjusted the scarf around his neck. “That you would talk to me like this at all in public is proof that my decision is the proper one.”

To be fair, with all this nonsense about forbidding the genpuktu, Byakuya had completely forgotten they were not alone. But, before he could formulate a response or an apology, his grandfather gave a slight gesture and a man stepped out from the window alcove, hidden behind a row of bookshelves.

The stranger looked like he’d just come from the furthest backwaters of the _Rukongai._ Though he carried a zanpaktō, he did not wear the uniform of the shinigami. In fact, his clothes were little more than rags. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and rough—all raw strength and no grace. His dirty blond hair was a matted tangle pulled back into a simple braid. Byakuya had never seen a man like this. What was he? Some kind of disgraced shinigami or a rogue mercenary? And, what could he possibly have to do with anything?

“This is Yama Fuschida,” his grandfather said. “I have signed you into contract as his apprentice and wakashūdo. From this moment on, you are no longer a member of this family. This man is your master.”

“ _Signed into contract_ ,” Byakuya repeated, dumbfounded. “You… You _sold_ me? To this… this… ruffian?” Byakuya’s eyes darted wildly between his grandfather and the ragged stranger. “No! I won’t do it.”

His grandfather turned to Fuschida, “You see how he is, Yama.”

“Yeah, don’t worry. I’ll beat some respect into him.”

The blood drained from Byakuya’s face. This couldn’t be real. It couldn’t be happening. His chest tightened until he thought he couldn’t breathe. “No,” Byakuya said, reaching out to clutch at the old man’s robes. “Please, grandfather, I’m begging you. You can’t.”

His grandfather slapped Byakuya’s hands away, “Don’t disgrace yourself further. It’s already done.”

Byakuya’s mouth opened to reply, but the only thing that came out was incoherent rage and despair.

His grandfather turned his back to him once again. His voice was tightly controlled, “But, understand this, Byakuya, you are technically _leased_. If you can learn what is necessary, I will buy back your contract and you will be reinstated into this family. School yourself. If you can do that, you may yet come of age and become the heir apparent once again. Do you understand?”  
He did not. None of this made any sense.

“You will leave now and with nothing. Hopefully, however,” his grandfather said. “You will return with humility.”

#

 

Byakuya also chose to leave without his pride. He had to be dragged kicking and screaming from his grandfather’s office, by not one, but three Sixth Division soldiers. At some point, he even made a play for the ruffian’s zanpaktō, which was how he ended up in the humiliating position of being slung over the man’s shoulder like a sack of rice.

In the time it took to be hauled from the Sixth Division barracks to the gates of the Seireitei, he’d exhausted much of his rage and tears. In a serious if scratchy voice, Byakuya said, “Mark my words: I will slit your throat while you sleep.”

“Heh, good luck with that, kiddo,” Fuschida said, giving him a light, friendly pat on his ass. “Even if you could, ain’t going to solve your problem. You’d be a nameless, homeless murderer. I don’t think grandpa would be very happy, do you?”

“God damn you.”

“You think you hate me now?” Fuschida said in a tone that was almost gleeful. “Just wait.”

 

#

Outside the gate, Fuschida dumped Byakuya into the dust. “On your feet, boy.”

“It’s Kuchiki. Lord Kuchiki,” he snarled, refusing to move.

“Not to get all technical, but it’s not anymore, “Fuschida grabbed Byakuya by his hair and pulled him upright. “In point of fact, it _is_ ‘boy’ or ‘hey, you’ or, if I’m feeling generous, ‘my pretty little piece of ass.’” Still gripping his hair, Fuschida shook Byakuya until he felt his teeth rattle. “You’re not getting this, twerp. You don’t get to play the little lordling anymore. Whatever I call you, that’s your name.”

“Let go of me,” Byakuya said through clenched teeth.

“Yeah, okay,” he said, though he didn’t release Byakuya right away. “I was going to be nice and do this privately, but we might as well get the formalities over with sooner rather than later. I’ll give you a two minute head start or the first strike, whichever you’re stupid enough to try. After I catch you, I’m going to give you a beating. It’ll be like an introduction. I’ll get to know you; you’ll get to know me.”

Byakuya didn’t like the idea of running, but with shunpo and two full minutes, he could nearly reach the outer districts. There was no way this man was faster than Yuruichi. No one was, but Byakuya came close. That gave him an advantage.

But there were disadvantages to this strategy, as well. If he revealed the extent of his ability now, there would be no depending on it later if a better opportunity for true escape presented itself. Right now, Byakuya had nowhere to go, no place that he could turn to for refuge. One could only run for so long. If he ran now, he would only _delay_ this fight and waste precious energy.

Fuschida unclenched his fist, releasing Byakuya’s hair. “Your clock started ticking, boy.”

It was a risky move. He’d never used flash step quite like this before. Byakuya spun toward his opponent in a fast half-turn, and pulled Fuschida’s zanpaktō from its sheath. Once the sword was in hand, he stopped short. The sudden halt out of shunpo left Byakuya a little off-balance, but he managed a swipe across Fuschida’s midsection.

Fuschida jumped high into the air, dodging much of the blow by going over it. His foot slashed out in a vicious kick to Byakuya’s jaw. His head snapped back and he fell. Byakuya’s wrist went numb as the zanpaktō was smacked from his grip. Before he could try another flash, Fuschida landed on top of him. His full weight slammed into Byakuya. Fuschida knocked the breath from Byakuya’s lungs and pinned his arms under his legs.

“Not half-bad, sport,” Fuschida said, punctuating each sentence with a blow. “You get a reprieve.” Bang. “I won’t break your hand this time for touching my zanpaktō again.” Crash. “Next time, won’t be free.” Sock. “I’ll cripple you.” Thud. “You’ll have to become a lefty.” Wallup. “Your mistake, kid?” Slam. “Not taking advantage of your speed.” Hit. “Don’t pull out of shunpo until I’m dead.” Thrash. “You had opportunity, but no intent.” Punch. “Next time, fucking mean it.” Smack. “Cut to kill.” Thwack. “Learn to destroy the _saketsu_ chain—“ Clobber. “—and the _hakusi_ soul sleep in one move.” Bam. “And you might just have something there.”

Though his face was too swollen to speak, Byakuya thought darkly. _I will you, bastard. I will._

Fuschida’s assault stopped, and he lifted himself off Byakuya’s battered body. With a nasty kick to Byakuya’s ribs, he said, “Now get up.”

Byakuya didn’t think he could, but, despite being physically beaten, something burned with a cold light, deep inside. He felt himself dropping into a well of reistsu that he’d never tapped before. From that strong, calm center, he found the strength to pull himself to shaky legs.

A raised eyebrow was the only indication Fuschida was impressed. “Good,” he said. “Let’s go.”

#

 

Byakuya had no sense of how far they’d walked. The strength he’d discovered earlier quickly faded. He only had concentration enough to put one foot in front of the other with minimal stumbling. At some point, Fuschida called for a halt. They’d arrived at a ryokan, an inn for travelers. From the look of it, Byakuya thought they might be several districts in from the capitol. It was a modest inn, but not at all shabby.

Fuschida clearly already had a room. He waved a sort of salute-greeting to the young female attendant in the entrance hall, “Hey, Hisana.”

She smiled pleasantly back at him, but her hand flew to her mouth when she saw Byakuya. She was clearly horrified by the state of him. Byakuya stifled the urge to apologize for dripping his blood onto her cleanly swept tatami. Instead, he kept his vision focused on the center Fuschida’s back.

“Will you and your…er, guest take dinner, Mr. Fuschida?” she asked nervously.

“We will. But, he’s not a guest. This is my new wakashūdo. ”

“Oh,” she said sounding a little horrified at the idea. “Another? All ready?”

Fuschida snarled at the woman until she apologized profusely for any insult and said she’d mark down that the lodgings were now for two.

After confirming the time food would be served, Fuschida led Byakuya to a windowless, narrow, sparse room. A sliding door was open to a small porch overlooking a central courtyard. The close quarters were stuffy in the heat of mid-summer and Byakuya found himself drawn to the cool breeze that carried the pleasant scent of wisteria.

Most of the space in the room was taken up with what Byakuya could only presume was Fuschida’s things--his travel packs, bed roll, and a surprising amount of empty sake bottles. The room was a mess and everything stunk of sweat and staleness.

“Take that off,” he ordered, pointing to Byakuya’s kimono. “It’s already attracted too much attention.”

Byakuya looked down at what he’d chosen to wear on this ill-fated day. At least it was nothing favorite, considering the amount of grime and blood spattering the fine silk. He had dressed appropriately formally for a meeting with his grandfather, however. The kimono was deep blue and had the Kuchiki family crest embroidered on the back. Underneath he wore a lighter, pale blue nagajuban, also of silk.

Fuschida dug though his bags and came up with something that he tossed at Byakuya. Reflexively, he caught it. It seemed to be a simple kimono of some rough fabric.

“That ought to fit,” Fuschida said. “You’re taller than the last guy, but he was skinny like you.”  
Last guy? Must be the other person that the attendant, Hisana, had mentioned. It disturbed Byakuya that this previous ‘apprentice’ had apparently left without his clothes, or… no longer had any need of them. It seemed profoundly unlucky to wear someone else’s garments, particularly one who might be beyond dead.

“You can’t continue to wear silk,” Fuschida said, noticing Byakuya’s hesitation. “It’s restricted fabric. Only shinigami and nobles can wear it. You’re neither.”

Byakuya opened his mouth to protest but no words came. The reality of this new situation was starting to sink in. No longer wear silk? He had always worn it! His fists balled in the rough fabric, as he imagined strangling Fuschida. If he only had the strength….

“We can sell your clothes tomorrow, though the embroidery will be a problem. Maybe someone can pick out the stitches. Nah, I think I know just who’d take something like that,” Fuschida stood up. He held something else in his hand that looked a bit like a silver bracelet. “I forgot. One last present from dear, old grandpa direct from the division’s guardhouse. Granddaddy told me you had kidō.” Grabbing him by the arm, Fuschida expertly snapped the contraption over Byakuya’s still numb wrist. Byakuya could feel the mechanism lock and instantly dampen his reistsu. “Now you don’t.”

Byakuya stared at the manacle in horror. Now he completely looked the part of a slave.

“Why the hell are you still standing there? I told you to take your clothes off. Am I going to have to strip you myself?”

Byakuya shook his head mutely. He set the former apprentice’s robes on the floor. Though he knew it was more than he could hope for, Byakuya looked around for a privacy screen. Finding none, he took a deep breath.

But the obi confounded his battered, stiff limbs. Like so many things, the knot had somehow become more complicated since this morning.

Fuschida swatted his hands away. Standing too close for Byakuya’s comfort, the other man tugged the belt.

“No,” Byakuya insisted. “I’ll do it.”

The slap to Byakuya’s face was open palm, and it stung, hurting much more than already bruised flesh. “Keep your hands away. I’ve decided I’d like to inspect my new property for myself after all.”

Fear and shame fluttered across Byakuya’s skin, making it crawl. “I’d rather you didn’t.”  
“I’m sure that’s true,” Fuschida laughed cruelly, untying the belt expertly. “Think of it as a test. If you can keep your hands at your sides, you get to keep a little dignity. If not, you’ll do this on your back.”

Given those options, Byakuya wasn’t sure which was worse. He almost felt he’d rather fight, but the idea of Fuschida straddling him naked gave him pause. He’d had the man on top of him once. It was enough.

Fuschida nodded, like he could read Byakuya’s mind. “Good choice.”

Rough and calloused hands slid under silk and over shoulders. Byakuya took in a hiss of breath. He clenched his jaw to keep from flinching away as fingers trailed down his arms, until the silk slipped to the floor.

Cool air brought goose pimples to naked flesh. Byakuya stared at a dusty cobweb in the corner of the room, willing this horrible moment to play out and finish. But, the torture was far from over. Hands, unwelcome, cupped the curve of his ass. Byakuya shifted, trying to move away, only to feel himself bump into Fuschida’s chest. He bit his lip from making any noise, least it be interpreted as encouragement. Thumbs traced the contours of hip bone.

“It’s a shame I had to mar your skin. I can tell it would have been flawless,” Fuschida said, leaning into Byakuya’s ear. His breath was hot and foul. Hands strayed to Byakuya’s cock and balls. “Still, you’re not too damaged to service. After dinner, we can make a second introduction.”

“Know this now,” Byakuya said. “I’ll die before you touch me like this again.”

Fuschida squeezed Byakuya’s balls. “Ah, don’t be like that. It’s an important part of your training. It’s called bidō, the beautiful way--the love between a master and his apprentice.”

Love? Byakuya couldn’t imagine anything more ironic. Besides, he was already well acquainted to true bidō; this was not it.

Into Byakuya’s stricken expression, Fuschida flashed a toothy grin. He stroked Byakuya’s cheekbone, “You’ll see. Now get dressed. I’m hungry.”

#

 

“You really are startlingly useless,” Fuschida sighed at the communal table. “How did you get to be seventeen fucking years-old and never pour a damn cup of tea or serve food?”

Byakuya hated himself for flinching at Fuschida’s disappointed tone, but nearly everything else he’d done so far this evening had ended with a cuff to the head.

Could he help it if his entire world was suddenly backwards? He’d had a lot of trouble even knowing where to sit in relation to everyone else. He should be at the head of the table, not the foot. To be perfectly honest Byakuya had no idea how food got to anyone’s plate, ever. Servants trained in the art being unobtrusive had always delivered it before. Who knew there were such rules about communal eating? He’d never dined anywhere that wasn’t utterly private or exclusive.

“You’ve never been to an inn before in your life, have you, son?” An older, kindly-faced man who shared their table asked. He had a wispy beard he stroked continually. “So where are you from, then? _Inuzuri_ or somewhere further out?”

“Nah,” interjected the woman who had taken the honored spot at the head of the table. She was dressed in a s hihakushô, and was clearly a shinigami—though one of the roughest Byakuya had seen. She seemed to have cut her snow white hair in the dark, its ragged edges ending in dramatically uneven sections. “He’s too fine-boned. _Inuzuri_ would have broken him.”

“He looks pretty battered already, poor thing,” the old man said quietly.

“It’s no one’s damn business where he’s from, you rude pricks,” Fuschida said, elbowing Byakuya and making a gesture at his plate.

Byakuya gathered he was supposed to put something on it, but, now that he was in charge of serving, the order of the dishes in the _kaiseki_ terrified him . Was the fish next or pickled vegetables?

With another dramatic sigh, Fuschida pointed at the proper bowl. “All you have to know is that he’s mine, useless though he might be.”

“Like anyone would be fool enough to try it on with one of your boys, Yuma,” one of the others at the table laughed. He was a pudgy man with stubble for hair. “We all know how jealous you get.”

“Yes, what happened to that other fellow, the one you were with last week? Takeda Something? ” the old man asked.

Beside him, Byakuya felt Fuschida stiffen. The tone of his voice was cold and instantly ended the discussion, “He’s moved on.”

 

#

After the others had said their goodnights, Fuschida and the shinigami stayed on to drink. Considering how many bowls he’d had to fill, Byakuya already felt like an old hand at serving sake. Especially, as it seemed to delight the woman shinigami to have him pour for her as well. She giggled quite girlishly whenever Byakuya did, and, curiously, Fuschida encouraged it.

Perhaps, Byakuya prayed, Fuschida could be distracted by this woman’s charms and he could be spared his ‘introduction’ to what passed as bidō to Fuschida. To that end, Byakuya didn’t wait for their bowls to be completely drained before offering more.

“Did you muster out or were you thrown out?” the woman asked Fuschida, pointing sloppily in the direction of his zanpaktō.

Fuschida’s grin was wide and evilly seductive, “What do you think?”

“I think they threw you out on your ass,” she slurred.

He nodded. “Now I freelance. Suits me better.”

“Hmmm,” she purred. “I can see that. So, what were the charges or don’t I want to know?”

“I never kiss and tell,” Fuschida said slyly.

“Fraternization? Well! I hope she was worth it!”

Byakuya noticed that Fuschida neither confirmed nor denied her assumption. However, he was pleased to see the woman’s hand stray under the low table, and to hear the corresponding encouraging noise Fuschida made. Fuschida leaned in close to the woman’s ear and whispered something. She blushed, but nodded. “I just have to take care of one thing,” Fuschida told her.

Fuschida got to his feet. He was a lot less unsteady than Byakuya would have hoped. Fuschida grabbed cloth at Byakuya’s shoulder and pulled him to his feet. “Come on, boy. I’m putting you to bed.”

“I can make my own way if you prefer to stay behind,” Byakuya said, trying to sound solicitous. He even offered a nearly natural, “sir.”

Fuschida laughed, pulling Byakuya roughly along the hallway to their room. “I do like that attitude, but I’ll see you properly settled. It’s my duty.”

Once at their room, Fuschida wrenched open the door and flung Byakuya inside. With all the travel packs on the floor, Byakuya tripped and fell backwards on to his back. He looked up in time to see Fuschida’s silhouette in the doorframe raise his hand, two fingers upraised. He spoke a single syllable: “Sai.”

Byakuya cried out as his arms were wrenched painfully behind his back by the binding spell.

Fuschida stepped into the room, standing over where Byakuya lay struggling on the floor. “Quiet! Don’t make me have to gag you too. If you don’t flop around too much, I won’t tie you to that post on the porch.”

Somehow Byakuya found the will to still himself. It was difficult. Not only was the position awkward, but it seemed to strain every already bruised, pulled muscle. He was grateful for the darkness, as it hid tears of pain he had no hope of controlling.

Fuschida watched, swaying slightly on his feet. “One thing I’ll give you, runt. You do learn fast. You were almost decent at dinner. Maybe tomorrow will be better for you. I’d like to be softer. I think you’d like it too.”

Byakuya said nothing, afraid he would only curse or scream. Damn that manacle sapping his reistsu. Though it had taken effort, he’d broken this simple spell in the past. Now he was helpless.

“It’s going to be a long night for you,” Fuschida said, turning to leave. At the door, he paused. Turning to look back into the room over his shoulder he said, “I’m sorry you’ll have to wait to experience bidō, but we’ll have all day tomorrow. Try to get some rest.”

Finally, the door slid shut and Byakuya was alone.

#

 

Fuschida was right about one thing. It was an extraordinarily long night. The pain steadily grew worse as his arms numbed. Sometime after midnight, Byakuya discovered a kind of peace, however. That deep well inside him opened up again, and he tumbled, gratefully, into its depths.

#

 

In the morning, when the first shaft of sunlight hit his face, Byakuya found himself still inside that serene, empty place. From inside its fortress, he had a clear vision of the chains that bound him. He could sense the weakest point of each link. Cautiously, he pushed reistsu against them, observing how the manacle pulsed to absorb this increase in energy each time.

Byakuya experimented like this for the next several hours until the door slid open and Fuschida stumbled in. He stepped over Byakuya, like the rest of his gear, and stood at the edge of the porch to piss into the bushes. Someone at the opposite end of the courtyard shouted out for Fuschida to have some respect and use a proper toilet. Fuschida raised his fist, “Fuck you!”

Apparently, his night with the shinigami had not improved his disposition.

Fuschida turned back and observed Byakuya through bloodshot eyes. With a wave of his hand, the binding spell dissipated. “Get up,” he snarled.

Byakuya felt a rush of massively increased reistsu, like the deep vibration of a bass drum. It flooded through him so fast that the manacle was briefly overwhelmed. Quickly, Byakuya channeled the excess energy into healing. Too soon it was gone, devoured by the bracelet. Still, he found he could sit up with a minor amount of pain, though his arms shook with the effort.

Fuschida flopped down and propped himself up on his travel bags. “Feeling a little more compliant?” Fuschida put his arms behind his head and pushed his toe into Byakuya’s thigh.

Though it was far from true, Byakuya nodded.

Fuschida studied him for a moment. Byakuya continued to say nothing, just sat on his knees, waiting.

“Good boys get rewarded,” Fuschida said. “Maybe you’d like to fetch my breakfast all by yourself.”

Byakuya bowed lightly. Though he had to bite the inside of his cheek to do it, he said, “Sir.”

“Don’t overdo it,” Fuschida said with a wan smile. “Go on.”

#

 

Byakuya stood at the edge of the entrance hall and stared out at the road beyond. He leaned against the porch railing, and rubbed his wrist. Absently, his fingers traced the edges of the manacle. All around him, people moved about in the streets, going places freely. Over the rooftops, the hill of Seireitei was visible—so near, but so impossibly distant. He could be there in a second, but would the defenses register him as an intruder? Would the walls rise up, blocking him?

“Mr. Apprentice?”

Byakuya turned to see the attendant at his elbow. He hadn’t noticed how cute she was before, with her heart-shaped face and deep, purple eyes. She smiled up at him so prettily; he couldn’t help but return it. “What can I do for you, Ms. Hisana?”

“Oh! You remember my name?” An endearing blush colored her cheeks. “Uh, I just… that is, you’ve been standing here a long time. I wondered if everything was all right?”

He had no answer for that. Instead, he said, “I was meant to bring breakfast to the room, but the kitchens are closed.”

She nodded, though her lips pursed together and her eyes dropped to the floor. He could see her struggle with some thought. “I can get you something,” she said at last. “Follow me.”

The girl led him back inside, through the dining room and into an expansive kitchen. She began to rummage through the cupboards.

“Is this going to get you in trouble?” Byakuya wondered, as he took the wooden tray she handed him.

Their eyes met and he could see deep emption quivering in hers. “A little,” she admitted, “but nothing like what you’ll face if you go back empty-handed.”

He opened his mouth to deny it, but decided that to do so would be an insult to her kindness.

She added a dish of pickled vegetables onto the tray. From a steamer, she scooped a bit of rice into a bowl. Lifting the lid of a pot, she inspected the contents. “The miso’s cold. I could heat a little for you.”

“Only if you wish,” he said.

“So elegant and polite, the way you speak, Mr. Apprentice. I’ve been wondering what you’d sound like,” she muttered. She brought a small pot and hung it over the embers in the kitchen fire. Over her shoulder, Hisana said shyly, “Even if I hadn’t seen your silks, I would have known, you know. How could anyone think you were from anywhere in the _Rukongai?_ I know I wasn’t supposed to be watching or listening in, but I… I’ve never seen anyone like you before. You sat so formally for _hours_!”

She made it sound like it was some kind of special skill. Byakuya had to ask, “Is that so unusual?”

“Are you kidding?” She laughed, but not at all unkindly. “Some around here can sit properly for a half-hour or so, but… well, there’re not exactly a lot of situations that call for that kind prolonged civility, you understand.”

“Ah,” he said. In a strange way, it comforted Byakuya that so small a thing marked him as noble. Fuschida, it seemed, couldn’t take everything from him after all.

She spooned out some of the miso into a bowl and brought it to him. She held it close to her chest for a moment, and then said, “Will you give me something in exchange for this?”

“If it is at all in my power, I will, Ms. Hisana.”

Her cheeks blazed red, and her eyes dropped. “Will you tell me your name?”

 _His name._ She would choose the one thing that was no longer truly in his possession. Still, it only seemed right that if he couldn’t have it, someone else should. “If I give you my name, will you keep it safe for me? Until I can reclaim it for myself?”

She seemed surprised by his seriousness and this strange request, but she nodded solemnly. “I will.”

“My name is Byakuya,” he said. “Byakuya Kuchiki.”

She took in a breath of surprise. “So… so you really _are_ a prince?”

“Not at the moment,” Byakuya said quietly. “Perhaps someday again.”

Hisana thought about this for a moment, and then put the bowl she’d been cradling on to his tray. “Lord Byakuya,” she repeated, as if testing out the sounds in her mouth. “Kuchiki-sama.”

Byakuya found he enjoyed hearing her say his name. It had felt like forever since someone had spoken to him with welcome familiarity, and it spurred him to boldness. “Ms. Hisana, though it’s a great presumption on my part, I would have you call me by my personal name -- with no honorifics. That way, even though it might be an illusion, I can pretend I have a close friend here.”

Her mouth hung open for a moment, and Byakuya worried that he’d overstepped. But, she dipped her head, and said in a voice that was nearly a whisper, “You do, Byakuya. You do.”

“Thank you very much,” he said, returning a deep and grateful bow, careful not to spill the soup.

As if she couldn’t quite stand the intensity of the moment, Hisana suddenly busied herself finding a few utensils and a pot of tea. Byakuya watched her, finding himself very charmed by her intriguing combination of shyness and strength.

Before she let him leave, she put a hand lightly on the silver bracelet on his wrist. “Be careful, will you? Your master is… evil.”

He nodded, but he added, “Fuschida will discover he has yet to _truly_ master me.”


End file.
